MAKING UP AND BREAKING UP

Jun 28, 2021 Features / Columnists, Peeping Tom

Even John who was usually talkative and restless, was quiet. He buried his head into the newspaper, but you just knew that his attention was not on the pages in front of him, but rather on what was taking place in the house next door.
The house next door was concrete and sealed. But even that could not prevent the “cuss-out” that was taking place inside from reaching all the way across the fence and into the living room where John, others and I sat.
It was an experience that John had never encountered. Verbal altercations were not new from where he came from. Persons have been known to throw remarks at each other. But this was a “cuss-out” with a difference. The language was far more colourful and explicit. Parts of the human anatomy were described with such clarity and vividness that nothing was left to either the imagination or to assumptions.
Myths were shattered, decorum was thrown out of the window. This was brutal frankness of a kind John had not experienced. Disturbed and embarrassed that two human beings could insult each other with words that cut deep, John nonetheless was having a taste of a good Guyanese “buse out”, an introduction to one of the more interesting aspects of life in a poor country where insults, ridicule and abuse were hurled further than a flying javelin or discus.
It was a lovers’ spat. A quarrel about the man next door coming home late the previous night. This is what made it interesting. His paramour did not object when he came in. She waited until he had slept off whatever he had indulged himself in before unleashing her wrath.
“You is a no-good, good-for-nothing, scalawag. Where were you last night?”
“I told you woman, I went to my mother.”
“You lying! I called your mother and she said that you were not there.”
“You call my mother?”
“Yes, I called your mother -three times. All three times she said that you were not there.”
“Well she is wrong. I was there but I was downstairs. I thought she was sleeping so I did not go upstairs to disturb her.”
“You are lying because when you did not come back home by midnight, I asked your brother to check for you. He said he had just come in and you were nowhere around.” “But is why I have to give you any explanation? I don’t need to give you any satisfaction. I am my own big man; I will go where I please, come back when I please and there is nothing you can do about it.”
“But is where you went? I am no floor mat that you can walk in here as you like. I am not standing for it. You have to tell me her name at least.”
“I do not have to give you any satisfaction.”
It was then that the quarrel descended into colourful language. The adjectives flew around like missiles. Both sides exchanged volleys of crudeness and fired rounds of vulgarity spiced with expletives.
There was eventually a short intermission. But this only allowed the verbal combatants a short respite, a breather to rest their vocal chords and relax their lungs before launching into a second round of nastier verbal exchanges.
This second round was even more dramatic than the first, and extremely explicit. This time relatives were brought into the picture. The background of each of the combatants was laid barer than the Sahara. Whose mother was this, whose brother was a dependent, whose sister was loser; it was all let out in the open. If you wanted a family history of either party, you could have it firsthand.
The third round was about holding ground. Just, also, most like the first round, it was about who was in charge. The man claimed that he was. The woman said she would have none of that and it was either her way or the highway.
Finally, the woman could take it no longer. She resigned from the fight and simply said, “I was a fool when I married you.”
The husband replied, “Yes, dear, but I was in love and didn’t notice.”
By the next day, it was as if nothing had happened. They were soon in a cozy pose in their car. The making up was better than the breaking up. This is Guyana.
(The views expressed in this article are those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the opinions of this newspaper.)

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